The Pentagon Spy

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Frank swerved toward the sailboat and gained speed. They closed in rapidly. A man glared at them from the deck. “What are you trying to do,” he shouted, “cause an accident?”

  “I’ll call the Coast Guard,” Joe offered.

  “Wait a minute,” Frank said. They had reached the stern of the craft and shot beyond it. He looked back and read the full name of the sailboat: Chesapeake Queen.

  “I don’t think the Coast Guard would have been interested in her,” he pointed out with a chuckle. Crestfallen, his brother agreed.

  After another hour, the boys began to feel hungry again. Joe took a fishing rod from a closet in the cabin, dropped a line in the water, and within minutes landed a mess of Chesapeake Bay perch. A stove in the small galley enabled him to fry his catch, and they found fresh bottled water to drink with their fish.

  Then Joe took the wheel while Frank cleaned up the galley. They paused for an inspection of an inlet whenever the possibilities appeared good. But their quest was in vain. Glumly, Frank stared at their wake as they chugged along doggedly. Suddenly he called out, “Hey, Joe! I think we missed a cove. The entrance is almost hidden, but I just caught a glimpse of it.”

  Joe went into reverse and they came to a deep sandy cove with a mouth almost too narrow for their motorboat to pass through. Shrubs and large rocks all but hid the inlet from view.

  “Better shut the engine off and drift in,” Frank advised. “Otherwise we might hit those rocks.”

  Joe cut the motor and both boys grabbed paddles. Slowly and carefully they made their way through the narrow mouth of the cove. On the other side, amid the surrounding foliage, they could make out the dim shape of a sailboat rocking in the waves some distance away.

  “That could be the Bay Queen!” Frank said excitedly. “Joe, get the binoculars!”

  The younger Hardy produced a pair from a locker and focused on the sailboat. “We’ll have to go in for a close-up,” he decided. “I can’t read anything from here.”

  He handed the glasses to Frank, who took a quick look and confirmed Joe’s opinion. “But I don’t want to pile us up on those rocks,” he said. “The whole cove is full of them.”

  They were discussing the best way of maneuvering their powerboat, when the silence of the inlet was broken by an intermittent sound like that of a clock. Immersed in their problem of navigating into the cove, the boys at first had not noticed the ticking.

  “Frank—what is that?” Joe stared at his brother in puzzlement. “Sounds like a clock. With the engine running, we didn’t hear it before.”

  He stared at the dashboard, but the sound came from the engine compartment. Suddenly the truth hit both boys at the same time.

  “There’s a time bomb on board!” Frank yelled. “And it may go off any second!”

  15

  The Bay Queen

  The Hardys dived over the side of the cabin cruiser simultaneously. Plunging into the water, they swam beneath the surface for several yards, then rose as their lungs began to pound for air. They moved away from the powerboat as fast as they could.

  Only seconds later, the time bomb exploded! With a deafening sound, it tore their craft apart. Fragments arched high into the air and fell back into the water. Heavy bits of wood and metal splashed near Frank and Joe, who turned to see the results of the shattering explosion.

  Soon there was only an oil slick where the powerboat had been. Life jackets and seat cushions floated on the surface next to fishing rods, floppy straw hats, and splinters from the hull.

  Unharmed by the flying debris, Frank began to tread water. “Are you okay?” he called to Joe.

  “I banged my knee when I went over the side, but it’s just a bruise.”

  Together they swam to the rocks and clambered out of the water. They lay there, panting heavily, until their strength returned.

  “Good thing we switched the engine off,” Joe said. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have heard the ticking of the clock!”

  “Ed Bryle must have planted that time bomb,” Frank said grimly. “He’s the only one with a motive. He could have done it when he was getting the boat ready for us!”

  “That’s why he was so friendly,” Joe added. “He thought we were headed for the bottom of the bay. We’ll fix his wagon when we get back to Chesapeake Crossing!”

  They sat up and looked around the cove. The sailboat was clearly visible now. It had swung around in the tide, and the words Bay Queen were written in large letters on the stern. However, there was no sign of anyone aboard.

  Frank and Joe rose to their feet and stepped carefully toward the shore from rock to rock. Jumping into the sand, they circled around the cove through the underbrush, maneuvering as silently as possible because they could not be sure Hunter was not around. On the edge of the beach, they parted the tall grass and peered through at the Bay Queen.

  The sailboat rode freely in the water. It was neither anchored nor tied to a tree to keep it from drifting off. Its sail was still up, and a wind off Chesapeake Bay made the craft rock from side to side.

  “She wasn’t sailed in here,” Frank whispered. “I’ll bet she drifted in from the bay!”

  “Let’s split up and approach from different directions anyway,” Joe cautioned. “We don’t want to take any chances.”

  Frank nooded and they cautiously moved out of the underbrush across the sand and waded through the water to opposite ends of the sailboat.

  Frank climbed aboard at the bow, Joe at the stern. Quietly they descended the steps into the cabin. Both were ready for action if Hunter happened to be there, but they found the cabin empty.

  Searching for clues, they discovered the ownership papers in a drawer under the front window. They were made out in the name of Clifford Hunter.

  “That makes it official,” Joe said.

  “But it doesn’t tell us where Hunter is,” Frank replied. “Keep going!”

  A few minutes later, the younger Hardy pointed to a wooden seat under a side porthole. “Look at this!” he said. Scratched in crude, scrawling letters in the paint of the seat were the words “Barren Island.”

  “Any idea what it means?” Frank asked.

  “No. Maybe it’s an island in Chesapeake Bay.”

  “We’d better check. But first we’ll have to get this sailboat back to town so the FBI can go over it.”

  “Right. But how about drying out a little first? I feel clammy.”

  Frank and Joe went up on deck and sat in the sun until their clothes felt comfortable, when suddenly they heard the putt-putting of a motorboat beyond the trees. Then the boat stopped and an anchor splashed into the water.

  The Hardys could not see who was in the craft, but they prepared to conceal themselves in case it was Clifford Hunter returning for his sailboat. Before they could move, they heard a loud splashing not far from the rocks. A tenor voice began to sing a rousing sea chantey.

  “That can’t be Hunter,” Joe murmured. “Wherever he is, he’d hardly draw attention to himself.”

  “Right. But let’s see who it is, anyway.”

  They jumped from the sailboat onto the sand and retraced their steps stealthily through the woods back to the rocks. A large boulder gave them cover from which to look down into the water. They saw the anchored motorboat with a man wading near it.

  “Gaspard Clay!” Frank exclaimed in astonishment. The curator of the county historical museum, dressed in white nautical garb, wore a broad straw hat that flopped down over his ears. Protected by hip boots, he stepped through the water with a crab net drawn back across his shoulder like a baseball bat. He sang so loudly that it seemed deafening to the Hardys at such close range.

  Every so often Clay swung his net down and drew it up leaking water and sand. If he had caught a crab, he dumped it into a large pot in his motorboat. Frank and Joe could not help laughing at the sight of Gaspard Clay out after crab.

  “No point in hiding from him,” Joe said.

  Frank nodded. “But let’s not tell him a
nything. He’ll talk, and everyone in Chesapeake Crossing will know we’re on the spy case. I’d prefer he not see the Bay Queen, either.”

  “Right.”

  The boys left the cover of the boulder and walked down onto the beach. Clay smiled when he saw them.

  “This is quite a surprise,” he declared. “How, ahem, do you boys happen to be here?”

  “We took your advice,” Joe said. “Went sailing on the bay. How’s the crabbing?”

  “Excellent! As I told you, best there is! I had a day off at the museum, so I came down here.” As he spoke, he produced two more crab nets from his boat. “Will you boys join me?”

  The Hardys exchanged glances. It would be one way to keep Clay from discovering the Bay Queen. Besides, they enjoyed crabbing, something they often did at home in Barmet Bay.

  Taking off their shoes and socks and rolling up their pants legs, they each took a net from Clay and accompanied him through the water along the shoreline. They made sure to take a direction away from the cove where the sailboat lay. Clay offered no objection because the crabs were abundant everywhere.

  “Ouch!” Frank exclaimed suddenly.

  “Is something, ahem, the matter?” Clay inquired.

  In reply, Frank lifted his foot clear of the water and revealed a crab clinging to his big toe. Gingerly he released his toe and tossed the offending crustacean into the pot.

  “That’s a smart way to catch a crab!” Joe kidded his brother.

  Frank grimaced. “All right, wise guy. I didn’t expect any sympathy!”

  Clay finally decided their catch was big enough. “You boys caught some of the crabs,” he said. “How about helping me, ahem, dispose of some? Eat them, I mean.”

  “That sounds great!” Joe said. “Too bad Chet isn’t here.”

  They started for shore and Clay transferred a number of crabs from his big pot to a smaller one. Then he led the way to the beach. Frank and Joe gathered driftwood for a fire, and soon the water in the pot began to boil. Clay cooked the crabs, and the three had a hearty dinner sitting on the sand.

  Afterward, Clay told them he had to return to Chesapeake Crossing. “I’m due, ahem, in the museum tomorrow. Want a ride to the marina? There’s room for three in my motorboat.”

  “No thanks,” Frank said casually. “We’re moored farther south.”

  Clay nodded, caroled another chantey, and chugged off with a smile and a wave of his hand.

  Frank and Joe returned to the Bay Queen. After thoroughly inspecting it, they decided it was sea-worthy. Using the motor, Frank backed the sailboat away from the sand, turned it around, and guided it between the rocks out into Chesapeake Bay. A wind was rising.

  “Let’s try the sail,” Joe suggested. “This wind’ll give us as much speed as the motor.”

  Frank cut off the power while Joe took control of the sail, and they swiftly scudded over the waves. Later they changed places, with Frank guiding the sailboat through the wind and spray of the bay.

  At last Chesapeake Crossing appeared over their bow. Frank edged the Bay Queen up to the landing of Chelski’s Marina, and Joe leaped ashore with one end of a rope, which he looped around a stanchion to hold the boat in place.

  Then they went to find Herb Chelski. He was in his office.

  “I’m afraid your powerboat is gone,” Frank said.

  “If you hit a rock and the boat sank, you’ll have to pay for it!” Chelski growled.

  “It didn’t sink. It went up in the air.”

  “Come again?”

  “It had a time bomb aboard and almost killed us!” Joe declared. “We escaped just before it went off.”

  “What!” Chelski stared at him in disbelief.

  “We think Ed Bryle planted the bomb,” Frank added. “You see, we know he stole a valuable antique in Pennsylvania Dutch country and he wanted us out of the way.”

  “We’d like to talk to him,” Joe added.

  “Ed isn’t here anymore!” Chelski exploded. “He quit his job just after you two left this morning.” He looked greatly disturbed and ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. “Look, fellows, I’m awfully sorry. I’ll have Ed Bryle prosecuted for attempted murder if he turns up again. But I hope you realize I had nothing to do with it—”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Chelski,” Frank assured him. “We know you didn’t. But you must understand that we can’t be responsible for the boat under the circumstances, either.”

  “Of course.” Chelski seemed relieved.

  “We found Clifford Hunter’s sailboat,” Joe said, changing the subject. “It was in a cove down Chesapeake Bay.”

  “You’re kidding! You mean Cliff came back with you?”

  Joe shook his head. “No. We have no idea where he is. The boat was abandoned. We tied it to your dock. Can you make sure it’s kept as is until the FBI checks it out?”

  “Sure,” Chelski promised. “I won’t let anyone touch it.”

  The Hardys said good-bye to the marina owner and returned to the Sunset Motel, where the desk clerk handed them a small package, about four by six inches and rather flat.

  “I don’t know who delivered it,” he said. “I was away from the desk showing a guest to his room. When I got back, this package was here with your names on it.”

  Joe picked it up. It was lightweight. “Thanks,” he said, and the boys went to their cabin. Frank immediately called the FBI in Washington. When he mentioned Clifford Hunter’s name, he was shifted by intercom to the office of the director, who listened with intense interest to the story of the Bay Queen.

  “You boys have done great work,” he praised them. “This is the first real break we’ve had on the case. An FBI agent will leave Washington for Chesapeake Crossing at once.”

  While Frank was making the phone call, Joe unwrapped the package. It was a cassette!

  “There’s a player in the lobby,” Frank said after he hung up. “Let’s try it.”

  The boys went to the machine that stood in one corner of the room. No one was there. Frank turned the player on after slipping the cassette into place.

  Seconds went by, and they heard nothing but the slight rustling of the spool revolving.

  “Nothing on it,” Joe said finally.

  “Must be a hoax,” Frank agreed. He was about to remove the cassette when the silence was broken.

  “Hardys, the hex is on you!” squealed the strange voice that had threatened them before. “Get off the case or you’ll be playing tag with the crabs at the bottom of the bay!”

  16

  Barren Island Hideout

  Startled, the boys let the tape continue in case there was more to the threat. However, the tape finished playing in silence. Frank turned the cassette over. The other side was blank, too. He took the tape out of the player and put it in his pocket. “Whoever this weirdo is,” he said, “he’s warning us off the case. I just wonder which one he means, the Pentagon spy case or the weather vane mystery?”

  “Must be the weather vane investigation,” Joe said. “ He threatened us once before when we were still at Hammerley’s to beware of the hex. At that time we weren’t even working on the Pentagon spy mystery.”

  “Which means he trailed us here all the way from Pennsylvania Dutch country,” Frank con-eluded. “We’d better make sure he doesn’t follow us to Barren Island, or he might interfere with our work for Dad!”

  “Right. That’s our next project. Let’s get a map and see if we can find the place.”

  Frank bought a nautical chart of Chesapeake Bay, then they went to their cabin. The phone rang as they walked in the door. The caller was their father, who asked them to go to a public booth and call him back so they could talk without being overheard by a potential wiretapper.

  Frank and Joe went to the nearest diner and were soon speaking to the detective, telling him the news. When he heard about their discovery of Clifford Hunter’s sailboat, he was elated.

  “This gives us something to go on!” he exclaimed. “And it s
hows my theory was right about Hunter staying in this area. I’ll keep looking for him on land; you follow up the Barren Island angle. It’s near the Eastern Shore of Maryland.”

  Then he hung up and the boys returned to their room. They consulted their chart of Chesapeake Bay. Finding that Barren Island lay nearly opposite the mouth of the Potomac River, they plotted the best course from Chesapeake Crossing.

  In the morning they rented another powerboat from Herb Chelski at the marina. They made sure no one was following them, then cruised to Barren Island. Edging up to the beach, they tied their boat to a small bush half hidden in the sand and went ashore.

  The island was about a mile across. Sand and scrub vegetation met their eyes wherever they looked.

  “Barren Island is the right name for this place. Who’d want to live here?” Joe said.

  Frank pointed to a building on the opposite shore. “Somebody does. Even though it’s hidden by those bushes, it looks like a big house. Let’s check it out.”

  The boys rounded the island and pulled into a derelict wharf. The pilings that once formed steps leading up from the water had slipped into a jumbled heap. Climbing to the top, the Hardys found a walk made up of broken flagstones with weeds growing between them.

  The house was in ramshackle condition. The windows were boarded up and shingles from the roof littered the ground. Most of the porch railings were broken, and birds nested in the chimney.

  “I guess I was wrong,” Frank said. “Nobody lives here. Looks as if the owners just sailed away and left the house to fall down.”

  Joe tried the front door. “It’s locked,” he said. Circling the house they found the back door locked as well. Joe scratched his head. “What do we do now? Break a window?”

  “Let’s check the cellar door first,” Frank suggested, and they went to the wooden doors covering the entrance to the basement. Frank lifted one. It rose on creaking hinges and hung partway open. “It’s too rusty to lie flat,” he said. Descending the stone steps, he tried the handle to the cellar door. “It’s open,” he called in a muted tone to his brother. “Come on.”

  The boys went into the basement. It was clothed in semidarkness because the boarded windows let in only a few rays of light. A musty smell greeted them, the result of the house being boarded up for years. Water oozed through cracks in the foundation and lay in puddles on the flagstones of the floor.